


Saliva Makes for Shitty Lube

by highestkingbambi



Series: The Welters Challenge 2018 [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alice/Julia is all from Quentin’s POV so bear that in mind, Alternate Timeline, Cunnilingus, Multi, NSFW, Orgasm Delay, Porn with minimal Plot, Quentin POV, Quentin is a bit of a pervert, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, auditory voyeurism, forgot to mention the anal sex, minor coldwicker brotp vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 19:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14654778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi/pseuds/highestkingbambi
Summary: After returning from Brakebills South to a mostly empty Physical Cottage, Quentin fails to adjust to a new relationship until he gets a little help from his friends.





	Saliva Makes for Shitty Lube

**Author's Note:**

> My endless gratitude to OneEyedDestroyer and coldfiredragon for coming along for the ride with me on this one. Your input has been invaluable. And a extra huge thanks to [OneEyedDestroyer](https://archiveofourown.com/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer) aka The Margo Whisperer for betaing this for me. You’re a legend.

Legs spread, arms above his head, Quentin Coldwater wallows in a cloud of smoke and pity. The Physical Cottage is empty. Mostly. He hasn’t seen anyone else for hours, but he can clearly hear the sounds upstairs, emanating from the room across from his own. 

He isn’t eavesdropping.

Getting away from the noise is the whole reason he came downstairs. Why he searched Eliot’s room to steal the blunt his friend won’t even notice is missing. To find his little spot next to the window and get high as fuck. Alone. Again. 

He isn’t eavesdropping.

But they are so fucking loud. 

After a week of listening to them, he knows which sound comes from which body. Higher pitched screams that remind him of prep school tennis matches with girls who dreamed of being Maria Sharapova obviously belong to Alice. Squeals that pierce through his ears at entirely the wrong frequency, before breaking into a staccato that indicates she is almost there. Again. For the third time that afternoon.

He isn’t eavesdropping.

If he were, he would be able to hear her final sigh before her body collapses onto the bed, all sweaty and satisfied. Quentin can’t hear that. 

Because he isn’t eavesdropping. 

But he does imagine it.

Quentin pictures her chest heaving. Visualizes the beads of sweat, glistening as they roll off those perfect breasts he definitely hasn’t spent the majority of his first year at Brakebills daydreaming about. He wonders if she’s the kind of girl that crosses her legs when she’s finished or if she leaves them wide open until the pins and needles stop.

Distracted, he brings the blunt back to his lips, only to find it no longer lit. He snaps his fingers to reignite the end and inhales as deeply as thinks himself able. Relishing the burn, he tries to forget just how loud they had been. How miserable it makes him to be left out. How that misery has manifested itself into the raging hard on in his pants.

Minutes pass and the silence continues. He relaxes and thinks of studying. Slowly, his erection abates.

An alto sings out in pleasure, and Quentin is right back at full mast. This second voice is much more familiar to him, though he’s never heard her go this long before. Even when they lived together in Brooklyn, Julia always tried to keep it quiet. Consideration for her best friend while she was nailed nightly by his other best friend. 

Alice has Julia moaning so much louder than James ever did.

He’s definitely eavesdropping. 

Upstairs, Julia cries out and Quentin pictures Alice’s head between her thighs. Blonde hair contrasting with Julia’s gorgeous olive skin. He can almost see her toes curl, the way her limbs vibrate as Alice’s tongue works her into a frenzy. Imagines her fists balling up the sheets as she screams Alice’s name. 

Quentin knows he shouldn’t. 

Pants too tight, he decides he has no choice but to hold the blunt in his teeth and pull down the zipper. He flicks it to his lips and inhales again while he shimmies his jeans down below his ass.

Taking the blunt into his hand, he uses the other to push himself up and check that he’s still alone. Somehow it would feel more shameful to sneak back into his room.

Second years are on break for two more days, and there aren’t any third year physical students. He’s safe.

Quentin pulls the curtains shut and leans back into the sofa. He drags his boxers down to meet his jeans and stares at his shame. 

There is only one way he can think of to fix it. It’s easy to ignore every other thought. Every idea that doesn’t make him a pervert. They won’t know. They don’t need to know he’s thought about this before. Alice and Julia together is one of his fantasies. Only in his dreams, he’s up there with them, not hidden away in a corner downstairs. 

Fingers have a mind of their own and while he’s debating the morality, they’re already wrapping around his erection. Slowly pumping, peeling back foreskin and tentatively caressing the tip. 

Fuck it. 

He takes a moment to spit in his right hand and returns it to his cock. Saliva makes for shitty lube and he feels every movement of his rough hand against the soft skin. Despite the coarseness of his grip, he’s so horny it’s easy to work himself up. His free hand hangs off the sofa, holding the blunt, fingertips brushing along the floor. The shag rug is a poor substitute for the hair that he imagines caressing, but his heart is already racing and the sounds from upstairs feed into his fantasy.

“What do we have here?”

Deep in the throes of his building orgasm, Quentin imagines he hears voices. Imagines Eliot standing above him, watching him masturbate to the sound of his best friend and his crush. 

“Eliot,” he breathes his friend's name and finds it spurs him on. Not for the first time either. Eyes closed, he pumps harder and brings himself closer to climax.

“Definitely bi. Come on El, pay up.” 

Quentin didn’t imagine Margo. His eyes snap open to see her standing there in only a bikini. With Eliot. Wearing tight swimming shorts and a light shawl instead of a shirt. They're back from Encanto Occulto. Early. 

“Shit- Fuck. You’re not supposed to be back until tomorrow.” Quentin’s face turns a violent shade of red and he drops the blunt as he attempts to cover himself. 

“Don’t burn the cottage down,” Eliot smirks, picking up the fire hazard and bringing it to his lips for a quick hit. “Bambi caused a scene, so we had to bail.”

“I can’t help it if twin Sheiks want to marry me,” Margo says like it’s not the first time it happened. 

Grabbing a nearby cushion, Quentin sits up and tries to hide his undaunted erection, but Margo snatches it away from him. 

“Now, now Coldwater, you put it on display, the least you can do is let us inspect the merchandise.”

A low moan radiates down from behind a closed door upstairs. Averting his bloodshot eyes, Quentin finds it even harder to go soft when he knows Eliot and Margo are working out exactly where his indiscretion stems from. 

He is supposed to be too high for this. 

They immediately sit beside him. Eliot wraps his free arm around Quentin’s shoulders, undoubtedly feeling the sweat cooling on the back of his neck. Feeling Eliot’s bare skin on his own just makes it worse. 

“Not bad Coldwater,” Margo says, swatting his hands every time he tries to cover himself. “Serviceable.”

“Decent. Bigger than I expected,” Eliot adds his review and it only makes him harder. “Though not by much.”

It’s not going down. And they won’t let him leave. Not that he’s even sure he wants them to. The arm around his shoulders has him captive. A second, smaller arm slides around his waist and he knows he’s their prisoner. 

Caught with his cock out. Waiting for his punishment to be announced. Sentence, eternal shame. 

“I don’t get why you had to turn them both down? They were kind of cute...and very wealthy,” Eliot returns the conversation to the reason for their early arrival. Helpless, Quentin fidgets between them. Part of him wants to die. Every other part of him wants to finish jerking off. 

“El, seriously? After all this time you think I want to be shackled to one person at the age of 24?” She acts offended, and she probably is from all Quentin knows about her. “You know I require multiple partners...preferably at the same time.” Margo finishes her sentence with her tongue against Quentin’s ear. Maybe she wasn’t offended after all.

“And that’s why you had to humiliate them both?” Eliot asks and Quentin realizes he is massaging his neck. Despite the attention he’s receiving, they’re both ignoring him, talking across him like he’s not even there.

“Oh God, Yes! Right there!” Julia screams from upstairs. 

Sitting between two friends, both of whom are half-naked, listening to two more friends endlessly pleasuring each other, while his cock hangs out of his pants, shouldn’t be a turn on. What it should be is the most humiliating moment of his life since throwing up and passing out in Ashley Peterson’s parent's hot tub after only one hard lemonade back in high school. And it is, only it’s also not. 

The hairs on his arms stand on end. Sweat drips from his brow. His breathing remains shallow.

They fucking know it. 

“I didn’t have to humiliate them, I wanted to,” Margo flashes a wicked grin and pulls Quentin into her like he’s made of nothing. “Wouldn’t you, little virgin Q? If two men fought over you like were a prize to be won?”

“I’m not. I told you I wasn’t a virgin,” he swallows his words. Eliot still has his blunt and Quentin wishes more than anything he could disappear into the haze of smoke. 

“I won’t believe it until I see proof.” 

Eliot leans across his body and blows smoke into Margo’s mouth. He pulls back, and blows more over Quentin’s face.

“Someone has been going through my things,” Eliot says, leaning back to take another drag and blow the smoke above them. The fingers massaging Quentin’s neck start to thread through his hair and he struggles to hold in a sigh.

“What are you- You’re being weird,” Quentin mumbles. He’s really fucking confused about whatever is going on. Brain foggy, he lets his eyes wander and notices that Eliot may also be hard, which is even weirder. Meanwhile Margo casually slips her legs over his lap like he’s a goddamn ottoman.

“I’m sorry, we’re being weird?” Margo brings her legs up to brush against his exposed penis. “You’re the one jerking off in the common room.”

“Uh.” He’s lost the ability to articulate words because Eliot is definitely hard, and peaking from his shorts. Eliot notices Quentin’s gaze, and lazily gestures to himself.

“Oh, this? I took some kind of magic viagra for an orgy before Margo had us kicked out,” Eliot whines and nuzzles himself into Quentin’s neck, while Margo scoffs in mock indignance. “She’s so mean to me Q.” 

“Didn’t I promise I would make it up to you babe?” Margo takes the blunt from Eliot and snuffs it out on the nearby coffee table, dropping it on the floor without a care for the damage. She takes Eliot’s hand and links their fingers, hovering over Quentin’s cock before settling on her knees. “And here we are, with a present already unwrapping itself.”

Quentin starts to think that maybe he’s higher than he thought. That his conscious left his own body to travel to a parallel universe where this all made sense. One where they were actually interested in him, and not just messing with him. Except, when he thinks about, maybe they always had been interested. Perhaps some of those times where he assumed Eliot was just being friendly, he was actually flirting, like Julia teased. And Margo, well there was that time after they won Welters where she grabbed his ass and told him he could ‘have it’, and maybe that hadn’t meant he could take the comfiest chair in the Cottage because she did roll her eyes when he sat down. 

“Ground control to Major Tom,” Margo’s voice snaps him from his racing thoughts. 

“I asked you if you were going to sit there with your dick in the air, or if you want to do something with us about these Twin Peaks,” Eliot asks and Quentin doesn’t get how the reference applies.

“Twin?”

“Not identical. Obviously.”

“He’s talking about your dicks, catch up Little Q,” Margo drops her legs from his lap and pushes herself against the back of the sofa. Her legs aren’t long enough to reach the ground, so she pulls them up against her body and slips them around Quentin’s waist to comfortably recline. 

While Quentin is distracted by the tanned limbs that rest upon him, Eliot brushes his hair behind his ears. A lazy smile breaks on Eliot’s face, complete with tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes and Quentin knows this is real. Genuine affection. Real desire emanating from the two people he had previously considered to exist outside the Venn diagram of those he was attracted to, and those who could be attracted to him. 

Buoyed by their touches, Quentin slides his hand into Eliot’s hair and slowly brings their lips together in a tentative kiss. Eliot’s lips are coarse from sun exposure. Dry and chapped in a way that contrasts with everything Quentin previously imagined. A faint crack in the perfect veneer coating the enigmatic man. To increase the moisture, Quentin sucks on Eliot’s lower lip, and he feels the hand on his own neck squeeze in return. 

The next kiss is hungrier. Their bodies twist and chest to chest, their hearts beat ever faster. With Quentin breaking the ice, Eliot takes his cue to lead. In one deft movement, he goes from sitting beside him to straddling him, all the while never breaking their lips. He’s bolder, more forceful and wastes no time pushing his tongue into Quentin’s mouth. Rough at first until they work out the rhythm.

Behind Quentin, Margo shuffles in her seat. Her legs tighten around his waist as she uses them for leverage to rise up against his back. She slips her hands beneath his tee and lifts it slowly. Nimble fingers caress his skin, investigating the shape of his body. They stop at his waist and she gently scrapes her nails against the creases of his untoned stomach. Self-conscious, he tries to flex, only to have her whisper in his ear to relax. She tells him there is no place for insecurity on the sofa, not when they’ve made up their minds to be with him. 

By the time she finishes removing his tee, he’s not just hard but throbbing. Every time Eliot rocks his body forward to kiss him, her legs rub against his cock and he’s ashamed to know that as soon as the touches become deliberate he’ll struggle to last a minute. Quentin needs a breather, a chance to clear his mind long enough to reach a state where he won’t explode on touch. 

“I should,” he breathes, breaking away from Eliot’s lips to make his plea. “I should go get some lube, and condoms.” 

Eliot pulls a face, but nods. Behind him, Margo whines at the inconvenience. 

“Top drawer, right hand side of my bed.” He instructs, and Quentin sighs in relief as he extricates himself from their grip. His own supplies were likely out of date. “Just know, If you don’t come back, you’re dead to me.”

Somehow he’s more embarrassed over the way his cheeks blush at Eliot’s words than he was at getting caught wanking, and he turns to hide the giddy smile. He fumbles with his boxers, and pulls them up, pressing his erection against his abdomen, praying the touch doesn’t release anything. It’s starting to get painful, so he runs upstairs, holding his unzipped jeans up with his hand. 

Eliot’s drawer contains more than the lube and condoms, and he makes a mental note to ask about the collection of battery powered devices at a less pressing time. 

When he exits the room, he slams into Julia wandering the hallway. Nowhere to hide the items in his hand, he mumbles his apologies while she stares wide eyed at his bare chest and barely hidden erection. 

“You might want to stay up here for a while,” he tells her, remembering that he was jerking off to the sound of her and Alice not even ten minutes ago. Quentin almost feels like he should apologize, and if she knew what he’d done, he would. Only she didn’t know what he’d done and didn’t ever need to. Crossing his arms over his chest he shuffles awkwardly, waiting for her to let him pass.

“Does Eliot know you’re stealing his stuff?” She won’t meet his gaze. “Who have you got down there? No, actually not my business.” Julia tightens the light cardigan he thinks she is wearing over a naked body and stares at the floor. 

As if on cue, giggles resonate from downstairs. The unmistakable squeal from Eliot that defies the nature of sound and the wicked chuckle from Margo sending shivers of arousal up his spine.

“For real?” Julia looks up, finally meeting his eyes. 

“You can pick your jaw up off the ground,” he beams. The reaction is more than enough to let him forget about his perving past and instead gloat over the resulting conquest. “Surely it’s not that worn out from Alice.”

“Don’t you dare wink at me,” she cries in mock offense and playfully backhands his shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

“Same Jules.” Quentin is shocked to find that he’s speaking the truth. 

“We are so debriefing on all of this tonight. Now go downstairs and get your little ass laid!”

Quentin and Julia smile at each other like giddy children. Turning on the balls of his feet, he leaves her and bounds downstairs to rejoin the others. 

The open curtain is the first thing he sees, and Quentin feels nervous at the prospect of passers by seeing what they’re doing. Still, he can’t deny they both look so good bathing in the natural light. In his absence they removed what little clothing they wore and completely changed their positions. Eliot leans against the arm of the sofa, and Quentin notices the light glow his skin picked up sunbathing in Ibiza. Somehow he’s still the palest person in the room. Margo sits against Eliot’s chest, his legs wrapped around her while she runs her fingers through the hair of his thighs. Head on his shoulder, her mouth reaches the bottom of his jaw, and she leaves kisses along the shaved skin.

The whole scene is like something out of a renaissance painting, and Quentin wants it framed to keep for eternity. It’s the first time he’s ever been in a situation he could consider sensual. Most of his previous sexual encounters far more desperate and drunk, in darkened rooms. Never bad, just nothing as sexy as his two friends reclining in the afternoon sun, waiting for him to return.

“About time.” Eliot turns his head and meets Quentin’s eyes. Holding his gaze, Quentin feels like he’s silently being ordered to remove his pants. Reaching the window, he leaves the supplies on the nearby coffee table and drops his jeans to the floor. A slight nod from Eliot all the proof he needs that he did exactly as requested. 

Boxers follow, and Quentin sighs as his cock releases from its cotton and elastane prison. Removing her lips from Eliot, Margo reaches forward to take his hand. She doesn’t have the strength to pull him onto the sofa, but her touch is all the incentive Quentin requires to crawl onto the cushions. 

Finding himself between both their legs, he realises he’s not sure how it’s all supposed to work. Who he starts with, what he can touch. 

“I distinctly remember you telling me you weren’t a virgin.” Margo sees his hesitancy. Feeling called out, he gathers every shred of confidence in his prowess and goes for it. Quentin grabs hold of the edge of the couch to steady himself, taking care to brush his wrist against Eliot’s bare ass. With the other hand he reaches forward, cupping Margo’s breast. He dives in to kiss her, brushing his thumb over her nipple. The sensation has her gasp, opening her mouth for him to show her what he can do with his tongue. He traces it along her own, playfully teasing while his fingers massage her chest. Margo arches, her back pressing hard against Eliot while her pelvis rises to meet Quentin. 

“Still not proof,” she breathes defiantly against his lips. 

Jerking away from his body, she rubs up against Eliot, taking care to keep him included in the action while Quentin focuses on proving her wrong. He trails his hand down her body, marvelling at how small she looks wrapped up in Eliot’s limbs. As he reaches her bikini line he sees where the sun couldn’t reach, her skin a shade paler and more sensitive. Barely touching, he draws his fingertips across her, licking his lips with pride every time she squirms. Tracing along her thighs, he continues to tease until he assumes she’ll kill him if he doesn’t do something else. 

In the back of his mind Quentin knows he needs to do penance for what they walked in on earlier. Erection close to unbearable, he purposely slides off the couch and guides them both to a better angle. Brushing his hair behind his ears, he gets himself comfortable on the rug before he shows them what he’s picked up in his relatively limited experience. 

Working his way down her thigh, Quentin leaves light kisses against her skin until he reaches the thin strip of hair left unwaxed. His tongue follows it south, an arrow to his target. Once located, his tongue runs circles around her clitoris, and he smiles as her legs seize around his head. She writhes under his touch as he alternates the pressure, dragging the flat of his tongue against her before flicking her with sharp twists of the tip. So much focus on what he’s doing, he doesn’t catch her moan, doesn’t even register how she tastes, only feeling her tighten the grip around his head.

He knows he’ll do a better job if he uses his fingers too, only he has other ideas for those. Filled with unearned hubris, he peels Eliot’s thighs apart, taking as much care as possible to keep a steady pace on Margo. Incapable of seeing what he’s doing, his vision filled with the view of Margo’s golden skin rocking under his movements, he sticks with suction on her clit until he finds his way. Quentin tangles his fingers in Eliot’s pubic hair before finding his balls. All it takes is a touch and both Eliot and Margo rise up from the couch. 

Ears covered, he misses the sounds they make and the way they control their noises by kissing each other. Quentin can’t see it, but the lack of hands in his own hair give him cause to imagine Margo with her arms above her head, tearing at Eliot’s curls, while his hands grip the edge of the sofa. Testing how close his imagination is to reality, he runs his free hand along the sofa and finds large fingers tensing around the frame. He massages Eliot’s balls with the palm of his hand and drags his fingers along his perineum. When Eliot tries to readjust his grip, Quentin slips his free hand into it and laces their fingers together. Every squeeze that Eliot gives spurs him on to press harder between his legs, to move lower, closer to his opening. 

Careful not to forget about her, Quentin tries to vary his tongue on Margo, and slips it inside her, curling against her walls to make her writhe. 

“Ignore tha-,” Margo cries out. “Just fucking, just focus on my-” 

Quentin gets the gist of what she’s saying and returns his attention to her clit. A scream of yes barely registers as he concentrates on tracing patterns against her. Thighs tightening around his head tell him to continue with heavy flicks. He pushes back as she thrusts into him, legs kicking softly on his back. Eventually, he feels a hand in his hair, tugging his head up to look at her.

“Honey, you’re done,” Margo pants, petting his hair. “I believe you’re not a virgin.” Flashing a smile, she rolls off Eliot’s lap and collapses on the other side of the sofa. No idea whether or not she came, he hopes he pleased her.

Looking up, he thinks he sees Eliot impressed with him. Quentin has an idea about what he wants to do to him, now that Margo has been taken care of, but he’s not sure if that’s what Eliot wants. All previously gathered data, not that he’d been prying, suggests that Eliot doesn’t have a preference. 

He takes a beat to stretch his tongue and notices that Margo crosses her legs. She catches his eye and he knows he’s been caught committing the memory for future solo sessions. Instead of scolding him, she brings a finger to her lips and smiles. 

At that moment, he knows he’s the luckiest man on earth. 

Eliot’s grip on his hand softens until Quentin resumes his massaging. Venturing south, he tests his desires for the afternoon and brings his pinky between his cheeks. Pressing lightly, his other hand is almost crushed under the force of Eliot’s reaction. Unsure if that’s a yes or no, Quentin tries another tactic. Hardly enough rest, but too turned on to care, he brings his tongue to the base of Eliot’s cock. Teasing upwards, he quickly changes direction, dragging it down over his balls and along his perineum. If he’s going to go further, he needs to adjust their position, but he’s still not sure if this is what Eliot wants. 

“Seriously?” Eliot jerks at the touch and asks with genuine delight. “I did not expect that to be in your repertoire.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Quentin replies, taking it as a yes. Ducking his head, he maneuvers Eliot’s legs to his shoulders and shuffles him down to the edge of the sofa. 

“Evidently,” Margo says, finally getting her breath back.

The sofa is hardly the right size or shape, but they are already committed to the location. Margo throws a cushion at Eliot, who slips it behind his neck. The procedure of getting ready is anything but sexy, but Quentin is sure he can rectify it once he gets going. Satisfied with the angle, he shifts forward, thankful for the soft rug beneath his knees, and spreads Eliot’s cheeks. Teasing, he wets the area with saliva before pressing his tongue to the entrance. 

From the opposite side of the room, relaxed electronica plays from a speaker, distracting him from his intentions. 

“No offense, but as much as I am all in for watching this, I need a better soundtrack,” Margo explains, reclining back in what little space she has on her side of the sofa. 

Quentin isn’t sure he wants her to know it, but he’s grateful for the noise. 

He takes a deep breath and presses his tongue to Eliot’s asshole, listening out for his reaction before he proceeds. A deep guttural moan releases, encouraging him to push inside. Starting with the edge, he flicks his tongue in slow deliberate movements, while his fingers massage Eliot’s cheeks. He keeps it light, only increasing the speed and pressure as he feels Eliot relax and loosen up to his touch. 

Where he had been so concerned about proving his experience to Margo he barely took the time to taste her for himself, Quentin finds a distinct lack of one in Eliot and hazards a guess that a colonic featured in his preparations for the orgy he’d been denied. 

Knowing he should be grateful, Quentin is mildly disappointed. Still, it’s impossible to dwell when Eliot is relaxing under his tongue and he can explore deeper. Dropping one hand from Eliot’s ass, he uses it to find a better position. The long legs draping over his back graze his own backside, and he’s desperate to get Eliot to the point where he’s ready to be fucked. Curling his tongue, Quentin locates the g spot, feeling him weaken. Eliot grasps at Quentin’s hair to keep him going. Slipping in and out, he works him up until his own hard-on can no longer be contained. 

Withdrawing his tongue, Quentin lowers Eliot’s legs to the floor and climbs over him on the sofa, which is entirely too small for them to fuck the way he wants them to, especially with Margo still taking up a third of it. Quentin cups Eliot’s face and grazes his teeth along chapped lips. The feeling of their dicks rubbing against each other between their sweaty chests has him consider settling for some heavy frottage when Margo removes herself from the sofa. She takes Eliot’s shawl, wraps it around her naked body and makes for the bar.

The extra space is just enough for him to fit on, and Eliot takes the chance to display his dominance. Pushed onto his back, Quentin finds himself pinned to the sofa. Given a chance to stretch out his legs, he takes it, his feet hanging just off the edge. A perfect reminder of how handy it was to be just shy of average height. Now captive under Eliot, he watches as the taller man reaches toward the coffee table and commands the lube and condoms to come to him. 

“I’m clean,” he says quietly, preferring to go bareback if Eliot will have him. 

“I’m sure you are,” Eliot answers, but still breaks open the foil packet. 

Eliot wastes no time bringing the condom over Quentin’s erection. Focusing on the positive, that at least he won’t cum right away, Quentin takes the lube and squeezes a generous helping into his hands. Working it up over his cock, he waits for Eliot to rise on his knees and massages the excess into his asshole. Slipping his index finger in, he makes sure Eliot is ready for him, moaning and begging. Calling his name to please just fuck him. Quentin slides between the lubricated cheeks and slowly enters him, short thrusts at first until they reach a comfortable rhythm.

Through the bass of Margo’s music, Quentin can still hear the smack of skin slapping on skin and it pushes him to go harder. He reaches out to Eliot’s chest and tangles his fingers through the smattering of dark hair. His heartbeat racing, pumping out of his body to the beat of their thrusts. Sweat drips between his pecs, and Quentin wishes he was capable of leaning up to taste it. It's not possible, cramped up on the too small sofa, all he can do is thrust into Eliot and watch as he comes undone. 

Setting the pace, Eliot presses one hand into Quentin’s stomach, watching the soft skin melt under his touch. The younger man would feel self-conscious about it, only all he could see was Eliot’s other hand wrapping around his cock. Between thrusts, Quentin tries to pass the excess lube from his hands to Eliot’s erection, failing to get purchase but leaving enough for him to jerk off in time to their movements. 

The condom extends his staying power, but it’s still been a considerable amount of time since the last time Quentin got laid. He wants to keep going, to make Eliot scream his name loud enough so the girls upstairs could hear it, but he knows his self-control will only last as long as Eliot does, and Eliot’s getting closer and closer to coming all over his chest. Somehow the awkward angles they are forced into by the couch have him hitting the right spot with far more accuracy than he knows he is capable of. He has to keep that in mind for future sessions.

He’s fairly certain there will be future sessions.

When Eliot spasms, hot cum spilling over Quentin’s chest, it’s only a moment before Quentin follows. Jaw slack, legs weak, he grunts through the last few pushes to leave himself empty. His face hurts from smiling but he doesn’t care. The erection he’s been holding onto for what feels like an eternity, but was closer to half an hour finally expended leaving him he free to gloat over what started as a misery wank and ended with a tick next to a prime bucket list item.

Eliot slides off Quentin’s flaccid cock and collapses beside him. They’re both drenched with sweat and neither can tell where one ends and the other starts. After few moments to catch their breath Quentin peels the condom off himself, and carefully ties it up. Completely forgetting that magic exists he spies trash bag in the corner of the room, but knows he can’t throw it that far, instead he picks up his boxers and wraps it in them before using them to wipe down his chest. 

“Not bad Q,” Margo compliments as she hands them drinks. “You’ve rendered him speechless.”

They sit up to take the martini’s she made them, and each downs them in one gulp.

“So I guess it wasn’t that fucked up I was jerking off down here?” Quentin asks, his confidence sky high.

“No, that was still fucking creepy, don’t do it again.” Margo scolds. She takes Eliot by the hand and pulls him up off the couch having decided it was time to clean themselves off.

“Come find us instead.” Eliot winks at him as he locates his swimming shorts. Unlike Margo who’s wrapped in his shawl, he doesn’t try and cover himself up, but simply flicks the shorts over his shoulder. Together, they make their way upstairs, leaving Quentin naked and alone on the couch. 

Basking in the glory of his first ever threesome. 

Relishing the knowledge that at least part of it is likely to reoccur.

**A few days later**

“How are our little heroes doing this time around Henry?” 

Eliza wanders into the dean’s office unannounced for the 12th time.

“The other day I walked past the Physical Cottage to see Eliot Waugh getting fucked by Quentin Coldwater, while Margo Hanson watched,” Henry replies, trying to drown himself in a glass of whiskey. “And Mayakovsky informs me that Alice Quinn and Julia Wicker wasted most of their time at Brakebills South engaging in copious amounts of oral sex.”

“They’ll never be ready for the Beast if they keep this up!” She cries out. “What about our traveler, where is he?”

“Penny Adiyodi? He disappeared weeks ago with the Battle Magician you introduced this loop.”

“Then they can’t get to Fillory! They’ll all end up dead.”

“You chose some of the most complicated students Brakebills has ever seen, and this is them functioning well, having a normal student life. What did you expect Eliza?”

“I suppose we have to try again,” she replies flippantly. 

“They should not have the fate of the world on their shoulders.” Henry finishes his drink and slams it on the table. 

“Yeah, well they do, so buck up Henry. Thirteenth times the charm.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case anyone is wondering, the exact song I had Margo put on is 'Don't Move' by Phantogram. Only I don't imagine Quentin being overly familiar with it, which is why it's not named.


End file.
